


HaLlOwEeN :o)

by thatsrightdollface



Series: Thinking about that Mysterious Earth C! [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Character Analysis, Earth C, Halloween, Headcanons Everywhere, Other, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff - Freeform, This is kinda angsty, and also there's, but I did try to be goofy too, happy Halloween to Jake tho, idk much about how snapchat works, in here, inspired by post-epilogue snapchat, mspaofficial snapchat, my OTP sank and I'm still not over it, oh!, possession by crazed puppet, so Gamzee's following people's stories, that isn't really existent but could've been beautiful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 01:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9469283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsrightdollface/pseuds/thatsrightdollface
Summary: Gamzee Makara knew his once-friends were having earth style Halloween parties down below, on that fragile, swirly-marble miracle they’d created together with all their hating and their fuck-ups and their impossible hope.  He knew because he followed plenty of those once-friends, even if he wasn’t sure they’d followed him back.(“Followed” as in on Earth C-Chat, now, and definitely not at all as in “skulking around after them ninja-quick and blood-mad…  Clutching a gibbering puppet in one sopor-sticky hand, scribbling ominous messages in his friends’ own motherfucking gore.”  Different ideas, brother.  Different selves.)This is sort of an examination of that one post-epilogue picture released on the mspaofficial snapchat, where Gamzee and Caliborn seem to be celebrating Halloween together.  I mention a few other official Halloween snaps, too, so this may be more fun if you've looked at them!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!! I truly hope you enjoy this shameless sea of headcanons and enthusiastic Gamzee analysis. While a lot of it's speculation, I hope I got details of past events right. I did try! 
> 
> Thank you for reading~ Basically, I'm just really happy Gamzee isn't trapped in a fridge prison anymore. His first official line in forever that wasn't "honk" deserved a little fanfiction scribbling.

Gamzee Makara knew his once-friends were having earth style Halloween parties down below, on that fragile, swirly-marble miracle they’d created together with all their hating and their fuck-ups and their impossible hope.  He knew because he followed plenty of those once-friends, even if he wasn’t sure they’d followed him back. 

 (“Followed” as in on Earth C-Chat, now, and definitely _not at all_ as in “skulking around after them ninja-quick and blood-mad…  Clutching a gibbering puppet in one sopor-sticky hand, scribbling ominous messages in his friends’ own motherfucking gore.”  Different ideas, brother.  Different selves.)

So the pictures kept coming in, you know?  Appearing like magic on the new husktop-phone Gamzee carried around in fakey-fake God Tier pockets.  It was like, _ding_ , here’s a snapshot of some long-gone friends all gathered around pumpkins sliced up to look like personal logos or screaming faces.  _Ding_ , here’s some snapshots of bowls full to the brim with bloodless human candy. 

The human Jade said, _“Too cute!  It’s not fair! ;)”_ to a pumpkin Rose posted, with intricate horrorterror tentacles cut out all around it in waves and knots, lit up with a dozen candle-stars inside. 

 _“the uliimate corp2e party cake, a2 2he promii2ed,”_ Sollux announced, showing off an enormous chocolate coffin Aradia had apparently fixed up, which oozed human-colored (Karkat-colored, punchline-colored?) strawberry blood whenever you cut into it.

Karkat was there, too, at one of those parties – used-to-be-invertibrother, used-to-be-best-motherfucking-friend – and it looked like he’d maybe sort of jumped on board with his human matespirt’s web-based comedy masterpieces.  That, or maybe Karkat had been handed a yellow sweater and shoved into the background, super confused and gaping like an antlerbeast caught in the thinkpan-brights. Dave was dressed as “Hella Jeff,” and that other motherfucker, his dancestor, his not-self look-a-like, was “Sweet Bro.”  Or maybe the other way round.  Gamzee still got things tangled, sometimes.  But didn’t every motherfucker have to untangle themselves, now and again?  

Did Gamzee even get this joke his once-upon-a-time-brother was all wrapped up in, now?  Karkat was supposed to be “Geromy,” wasn’t he?  

Yeah, Gamzee knew “Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff,” but only from far away.  Karkat had analyzed those comics around when he’d first started acting actually flushed for Dave, pitying him for his “TERRIBLE, CRAZED-SCRIBBLE” art and his “AWKWARDLY DETACHED, SELF-AWARE RAPS,” as Gamzee had gathered.  Karkat had propped his elbows on the fridge where Gamzee was trapped, tied up and locked cold and honking into claustrophobia.  He’d analyzed the comics aloud, sometimes.  And sure, sure, maybe Karkat had been talking to someone Gamzee couldn’t hear, couldn’t see.  Someone that still mattered so far as old KK was concerned.  Maybe Karkat had been talking to himself.  That motherfucker _did_ always love-hate the sound of his own voice – straight up kismesis material, Karkat/Karkat, OT fucking P. 

(Gamzee would’ve said all that with lazy, rambling affection, once, thinking Karkat through like a riddle that might not have had any kind of answer to it no matter how hard a motherfucker stared and pondered.  Now, he wasn’t sure how he’d sound if he talked about Karkat, how he felt, or even whether the puzzle that was his old friend had already been solved and he just didn’t want to admit how keenly the answer burned him.)

 Because maybe, _maybe_ Karkat had analyzed those comics aloud _to Gamzee_ , but probably not. 

There he’d been, locked in the quiet for punishment and judgment and abandoning, kicked around through space and used as a tea party table.  He’d felt himself shift slowly from mystery to memory – sort of like he had to his Goatdad, waiting forever on an ashy grey beach, staring out into the sea.  The old goat came to visit and then he faded, getting smaller and smaller on the horizon until Gamzee wouldn’t have looked like shit to him, just a purplish smear against the sand. 

Maybe sometimes Karkat remembered how Gamzee had asked to listen to him, had asked to be a part of his angry, seething world.  Asked Karkat to fill his own faithful silence with so many feelings and words.

But, you know what?  Probably not.

 “SO HERE ARE TWO DOUCHEBAGS MAKING SOMETHING CALLED A ‘NACHOS.’  WHICH APPEARS TO CONSIST OF TRIANGLES SMOTHERED IN SCRIBBLY YELLOW GRUBSAUCE,” Karkat would say on a given night.  Or maybe, “AND WHAT’S EVEN GOING ON WITH THIS FUCKASS HERE, YELLING ‘I TOLD YOU DOG’ AT HIS SO-CALLED ‘BRO’ AS HE FALLS DOWN A THOUSAND FUCKING STAIRS INTO WHO EVEN KNOWS WHERE??? JEGUS GOG THIS IS SOME SHITTY BROMANCE…  AND LOOK.  IT’S FUCKING OVER AND HE’S STILL FALLING!!!”

Gamzee remembered thinking – from inside his fridge, from inside his penance – “YOU’RE ONE TO FUCKING TALK MOTHER FUCKER Do:” and he knew he’d thought it in a voice that was more the Bard of Rage’s than his own.  Karkat had sent Equius to kill him, after all, Equius with his strength and his diligence, his groveling and his stern cold blood.  He’d come instead of Karkat, instead of family, instead of listening or wanting to know.  Gamzee had been tossed so far beyond himself.  Looking back now, it seemed like maybe he could have been reachable – maybe he was there under the turbulent surface, there in the self that wanted to believe, that might have collapsed into someone’s arms a thousand thousand times throughout his sweeps if anyone had ever reached for him.  But there Equius had come with orders to take him the fuck down at all costs, because he was a threat to the team and not a teammate in his own fucking self. 

maybe equius wouldn’t have been able to touch gamzee it’s true

BUT KARKAT HAD STILL GIVEN THOSE MOTHERFUCKING ORDERS MOTHERFUCKER

and they’d fed the rage that seeped through and swung him around like a motherfucking puppet

“KARKAT WANTS YOU DEAD BRO”

“equius was sent to beat you bloodsilly with a broken mother fucking bow”

That’s what Cal had whispered right before Gamzee drew back his own deathsmiling Jokerkind arrow in the dark, shot Equius to a royal genuflect.  Gamzee had believed his new best friend, his puppet – oh Messiahs gory and laughing, oh Messiahs dark and kind, Gamzee had believed so many things. 

And Karkat had been right to be afraid of him, hadn’t he?  Karkat had never been so afraid in his life, and he’d been hatched branded, hatched mutant.  All her Imperious Condescension’s loyalists would’ve had his blood in their coffee soon as give him a smile.  Motherfucking good reason as any to be afraid.  Gamzee’d kept Karkat’s secret nice and snug, hadn’t he?  No telling how long he’d known.

But look.  What’s this?  Here’s Karkat’s best motherfucking friend that he never wanted going off the Highblooded imperial deep end, speaking holy murder and planning to juggle up a little ruckus…  Could Gamzee blame Karkat for sending death?  For wanting Gamzee broken, whatever voices were rattling around inside, possessing him, changing him?

Gamzee blamed him.

Could Gamzee blame him?

All that bad shit was sweeps ago.  It should have faded – it would have a whole gaping eternity yet to fade.  Gamzee had to remind himself about how time had kept on going, sometimes, now that he was free and standing on his own shaky, swaying legs.  The fridge was opened and the world was raw and new.  Gamzee could breathe in paint and stardust again.  He could breathe in the sky, though it wasn’t his own sky, and there didn’t seem to be a place for him down on the planet his once-friends ruled over with their crowns and their countries, their parades and closed-off carnivals. 

It was like waking up slowly, in a way – Gamzee couldn’t have told you when his own true first voice came flooding back to him, but it _had,_ and hE’d BeCoMe SoMeThInG lIkE hIs OwN sElF aGaIn.  Gamzee’s eyes were heavy, now, and his face paint was smoothed on nice and clean instead of glopping everywhere with his own hardening grape-jelly scabs.  

It was Halloween.  Time was passing and passing and the miracle planet they’d improbably made was growing into something more beautiful and strange than any of them could’ve guessed.  Gamzee couldn’t help smiling a little, seeing how Karkat lurked awkwardly in the back of Dave’s picture. It wasn’t Dave’s caption about Karkat being “problematic” that did it.  Maybe it was something like nostalgia, like wanting, that made Gamzee’s lip tick up like that.

He’d always known Karkat would be the type to put up with the people he really pitied through thick and thin.  To be there, whatever mean, screamy bullshit he said along the way.  That sort of pity hadn’t been confirmed in their own friendship, no, not in this timeline.  But maybe… Maybe.  Gamzee’d always thought Karkat would probably have been ace at diamonds – haha.  Get it?  Palemance jokes, motherfucker.   

No.

Gamzee couldn’t help smiling, still – though that smile might’ve actually been something like a wince, something like a pain.  And there he went, checking again to see if he’d gotten any invitations to one of these human Halloween parties.

He hadn’t.  But his little skull-girl, his Calliope, his ward – Gamzee was a motherfucking lusus himself now, didn’t you hear?  Troll-lusii were a thing now, and all – was playing Ghostbusters with some of her bros.  That was good.  She was smiling with eyes bright and green as sopor pie.  _“this is sUch fUn, thoUgh a toUch ghoulish ^u^,”_ she’d written.  Gamzee ticked “Like” with his claw. 

Sollux and Terezi’s dancestors had posted pics of their horror game night – so much popcorn.  So many neon wheelie shoes.  Gamzee scrolled away, even if he did think a pair of shoes with motherfucking wheels on the bottom counted as a goddamn blessing to trollkind.

Eridan had decorated his new houseboat to look vaguely spookier than usual, with sea-salty velvet drapings and a gilded skeleton or two.  He’d always been one for those arts and crafts, Eridan.  There were blue and red crystals jammed in some of the skulls’ eyes, all like a certain psiioniic’s might’ve up and been, once.  Some kismesis shit, if you asked Gamzee.  Not that anyone did, you know?

So many pictures, but it was all empty, somehow.  Lots of words but not a single motherfucking… You know.  _You know._

 And so Gamzee went to go find his new best friend, the main part of that ragged voice living inside his puppet-bro, inside his Lil Cal.  He’d raised Caliborn just like Calliope, though with a fair sight more biting and machine gun attacks involved.  Caliborn had listened and heard about the twice-godly revels prophesied to come – he had cackled and burst forward into making them true with just the same madness as he’d needed to gnaw off his own motherfucking leg.  Maybe Caliborn loved those revels, too, loved the rap-hymns Gamzee still remembered, candy-sweet and gory as they were.  Maybe he loved being able to coax John Egbert along to a Dark Carnival they now both believed could be a real truth.  Or maybe the carnival was a means to an end for Caliborn, just like Gamzee himself likely was.  They were together sometimes, and there were voices outside Gamzee’s head again.  It was nice.  He could be called “Honk Friend,” after all.  He didn’t mind.  He had been called useless before, and a disappointment, and an embarrassment, and too many things. 

“YOU BETTER.  WALK MORE QUIETLY.  CLOWN,” Caliborn said.  He was hunched over his golden prosthesis, arranging more jewels around where his claws would’ve been.  They were lime green, those jewels, and he said they were supposed to be like his sister-self’s hated blood.  As if he’d bashed in her skull with it, you know?  AND LET HER BRIGHT SOUR APPLE INSIDES. SPLATTER ALL OVER THE GROUND.  AND ALSO THIS FOOT. 

Caliborn said a lot of weird shit, sometimes.  He was a little like Karkat, in that way.  Gamzee let Caliborn’s words wash over him like a fucking tide, and he didn’t have to feel any of them at all, if he didn’t want to.  He was good at that, when his smiles were dreaming and maybe even a little sopored-up.  He had that shit on lockdown.

Gamzee walked a little more quietly in his curly-toed jester shoes.  He said, “aRe YoU aLl At SoMeThInG lIkE a MoThErFuCkIn… A sToPpInG pLaCe, My BrOtHeR?”

“A MASTER CRAFTS MAN.  MUST WORK THE HARDEST.   AT HIS CRAFT.  ALWAYS,” Caliborn announced.  His eyes ticked between different crazed billiard-ball colors, and Gamzee remembered staring half-asleep at the fluttering lights of his Miracle Modus back in his hive on Alternia.  What he would’ve given for eyes like Caliborn’s, back then, with too much wicked frenzy inside them.

“yEaH, i GoT tHaT,” Gamzee said, thinking about the time Caliborn had decided to build a chess set out of their new home’s greyish, unforgiving rocks.  They’d both had had to dig around for what felt like sweeps, then, looking for just the right color rocks, the right texture rocks, the right tasting rocks – for whatever mysterious reason, that tasting part.  The chess set had still come out looking kind of like one of Dave’s comics, all wonky shapes and tilting.  Gamzee couldn’t rightly tell the pieces apart, most times.  “bUt ArE yOu ClEaR aS tO wHaT tOnIgHt Is, AcCoRdInG tO tHe SwEeT aLiEn StAr MoNkEyS mE aNd My TeAm Up AnD cReAtEd? A dEaTh FeStIvAl oR sOmE sUcH lAuGhInG wIcKeD mIrAcLe.  On EaRtH yOu’D wEaR sOmE dIfFeReNt KiNd Of FaCe ThAn YoUr OwN aNd EaT cAnDy.  YoU wAnNa MoThErFuCkInG tRy On AlL tHaT nOiSe, BrO?”

“WEARING SOME OTHER FACE.  THAN YOUR OWN.  YOU SAY,” Caliborn mused, in a voice both like the actual Muse – Calliope’s – and nothing like her at all.  The uncanny in-between.  “THAT SOUNDS.  SURPRISINGLY PROMISING.  FOR ONE OF YOUR IDEAS.”

“i’M mEaNiNg LiKe A cOsTuMe,” Gamzee offered, “NoT nEciSsArIlY sTeAlInG sOmE pOoR mOtHeRfUcKeR’s SkIn RiGhT oFf LiKe A SiNpReSsIoNiSt GeTtInG tHeIr MoThErFucKiN dIvInE mImIcRy On.”

“DAMN IT,” said Caliborn.  “NEVERMIND.  I GUESS.  THIS FESTIVAL.  IS A BULLSHIT FESTIVAL.”            

“It’S fOr TrIcKs MoStLy I tHiNk,” Gamzee said, voice drawling and quiet and only a little hopeful.  What was he hoping for?  “HaLlOwEeN iS, oR mIgHt Be, I mEaN. iT’s FoR tHe DaRkEsT tRiCkS aNd GaMeS oF tHe HuMaNs’ YeAr.  ThAt’S tHe SoRt Of BeAuTiFuL sHiT rOsE wAs SaYiNg, WhEn ShE pOsTeD aLl HeR bUtChErEd PuMpKiNs On OuR pHoNeS.”

“’TRICKS.’  SO LIKE GAMES,” Caliborn said.  He was finally looking up from his golden leg, letting the rest of the green crystals – green rhinestones?  Gamzee wasn’t the kind of troll who could rightly tell, you know? – clatter into the rocks beneath him.  “THAT IS SOMETHING.  I CAN LIKE.”

“YeAh, MoThErFuCkEr, YeAh!”

“BUT WHAT’S SO DARK.  ABOUT BUTCHERING PUMPKINS?  CAN THEY FEEL PAIN?”

“DuNnO,” Gamzee shrugged.  He was so much taller now than he used to be, and his movements felt strange.  Highbloods grew huge, he knew, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever rightly believed _he_ would.  He knew it was happening, by this point – someday he’d have to bend down if he ever wanted to look Karkat in the eye. 

He’d be able to rocket along on a bitchin one-wheel device for sure, now, if it wasn’t for all the motherfucking rocks everywhere. 

Caliborn’s mind was far away from one-wheel devices, though.  As usual.  “WE COULD PROBABLY MAKE UP.  BETTER ‘HALLOWEEN’ TRICKS SLASH GAMES.  THAN BUTCHERED PRODUCE.  OR.  YOU KNOW.  I COULD.  AND YOU WOULD BE MY LOYAL MINION.  AM I RIGHT.  HONK FRIEND?”

“sUrE aRe, BrO.” 

“NOW.  WHO SHOULD WE PRANK?  IT COULD BE THAT FUCKING.  CALLIOPE.  WE COULD PRANK HER.  WITH ANOTHER DEATH.”

“mAyBe SoMeThInG eLsE wOuLd Be A goOd LaUgH.”  Gamzee didn’t like seeing Calliope scared.  He never had.  He’d held her as a little thing, and sung so, so quietly.  He’d rocked her like the swelling of the sea had rocked his own lusus, far and far away.  There were reasons Gamzee had denied his dark inheritance as long as he had – he loved his religion as it had been before the Condesce claimed the clown church as her tools… Before the Grand Highblood up and sold them to the aristocracy instead of the motherfucking carnival they were made for.  _PeAcE hApPeNs FiRsT_ , Gamzee had known, back on Alternia.  _aNd MuRdEr’S tHe SeQuEl._  

Maybe that line meant a whole hand spread full of harshwhimsical playing cards, plenty of meanings but you only pick one when you’re a jestprophet all playing at the trick.  Maybe it meant Gamzee’s religion wasn’t originally a call to hatred – it was binding together, it was togetherness, it was the knowing that any motherfucker could belong in the sacred murdermirth foretold, dying together in the vast honk to come, as all must.  As _all_ must, brother.  The caste system shouldn’t matter in such a bloodcircus to end all circuses. 

Trolls bled as equals.  

Gamzee had known, he’d known – and then he had looked into the puppet’s eyes, into Cal’s eyes.  He had listened, and forgot.  He had listened, and lost his own motherfucking hopes, his own motherfucking voice.   

it wouldn’t happen again.

GAMZEE SHOULDN’T BE RAGE’S MOTHER FUCKING VESSEL AGAIN.

if he could help it.

 “HM.”  Caliborn stood, and folded a hand under his chin like his anime self-insert character liked to do.  It was his art-making face.  Yeah, Caliborn occasionally announced he was done offering his awesome creative energies to the world, but Gamzee never really believed him.  Caliborn was so much restlessness, so much thought, after all.  Like Karkat.  Like Calliope.  It was a quest just to keep up with any of them, some of the motherfucking time.  “HM.  YES.  I KNOW WHOSE FACE I WILL STEAL.  MY MISERABLE HUMAN ‘BRO.’  JAKE ENGLISH.  HE HAS WORN MY FACE BEFORE.  IN THE FORM OF HIS OBSCENE COMPUTING DEVICE.  IT IS ONLY FAIR.  FOR ME TO WEAR HIS.”  

“mAyBe So LoNg As JaKe KeEpS hIs OwN fAcE a LiTtLe ToO,” said Gamzee thoughtfully.  Jake had been one of the only people to wonder at the clown honking mysteriously in the fridge, after all.  All that time, and Jake had been one of the only people to give a fuck about Gamzee, period, even if he _had_ been roped into a Wonderland tea party date at the time.  Jake had worn a Mad Hatter get up, Gamzee knew.  Jake was a Page just like Tavros had been – even if it hurt to think of Tavros, now, hurt so cold and raw Gamzee wasn’t going to wander into it unsuspecting on a Halloween night.  Brown blood splattered on the stairs like screaming constellations, pooling like a thick murderous sea carrying Tav away and away, split in half and away…  “jAkE dEsErVeS tO wEaR _sOmE_ mOtHeRfUcKiN fAcE.”

“I WILL CONSTRUCT A BRILLIANT ‘COSTUME.’  OF THE JAKE ENGLISH,” Caliborn announced.  His voice quavered only a little, as it did when he went through the most intense and artistic of revelations.  “AND YOU WILL PHOTOGRAPH ME.  PARTAKING IN.  RIDICULOUS FRIVOLITIES.  HE HAS BEEN KNOWN TO ENJOY. MOCKING HIM.”

“i CaN tAkE jAkE eNgLiSh-Y dAnCiNg PiCs Of YoU, mY bRoThEr.  GeTtInG dOwN iN a MoThErFuCkIn SwOoPy WiG oUt HeRe In SpAcE.  iT’s A fUcKiNg RiDiCuLoUs MiRaClE i NeVeR dReAmEd I wOuLd Be LiKe To SeE.”

“GOOD.  GOOD.  AND THEN.  YOU WILL DRESS AS ME.  MAJESTICALLY.  AND WE WILL TAKE A PICTURE OF YOU SMITING.  THE JAKE ENGLISH ME.  AS A SHOW.  OF WHAT GLORIOUS TRIUMPH THERE IS SURELY COMING IN MY FUTURE.”  Caliborn began pacing, now.  His golden leg clunked against the rocks with the kind of dramatic flair only a truly artistic potential tyrant could’ve managed.  He was rubbing his claws together the way he did whenever he thought up an especially diabolical and unprecedented shitty twist.  He added, as an afterthought, “YOU WILL NOT.  ACTUALLY SMITE ME.  IT WILL ONLY BE A CLEVER ARTISTIC RUSE.”

“dReSs Up LiKe YoU, BrO? i ThOuGhT i MiGhT bE LiKe.  An ImP?  wItH a MoThErFuCkIn JiNgLIY BeLl HaT. oR mAyBe SoMeBodY fRoM tHaT hUmAn ClAsSiC ‘kIlLeR kLoWnS fRoM OuTeR sPaCe.’”

“NO. MY FAITHFUL MINION.  YOU WILL BE ME.  BUT ALSO.  NOT ME.  AS IT IS A CUNNING PLOY.  TO TRICK JAKE ENGLISH ON HIS OWN HUMAN FESTIVAL. OF DEATH AND CANDY.  WE WILL EVEN SAY.  SOMETHING LIKE.  ‘ARE YOU READY TO DIE.’  ‘STUPID DANCING HUMAN ‘BRO’?’  TO ADD TO THE PRANK.  AND MAKE IT ESPECIALLY.  EFFECTIVE.”

Gamzee thought about that speech just then.  He thought about how stuffy it would be inside a huge Caliborn-face hat, how his paint would start to get melty all along the edges.  He thought about how wicked harshwhimsical he’d look in a snappy red bowtie – which was _very_.    He thought about Jake getting a string of threatening messages from them out of the blue, maybe laughing nervously and clicking “delete” as fast as he could.  Or.  Or. 

Or you know, maybe there’d be Jake _instead_ passing his phone around, passing it to Dave – who had told Gamzee to listen to the puppet in the first place, and who then hadn’t told anyone else about its whisperings even when shit went fucking south… To Calliope, who couldn’t have thought her motherfucking lusus was a monster until somebody got it up in their thinkpan to tell her that…  To Karkat. 

To Karkat who would sigh deeply and say something about “USELESS CLOWNS.”  Again.  Whatever pity Gamzee had hoped for.  Whatever pity Gamzee had believed in, before he knew any of the grim and whispered truths.  Before plastic puppet eyes could stare out through his own self, seeing instead of him, speaking all through him – and then _Gamzee_ was the puppet, and he fed half his soul or more into the monster. 

it was an honor to be part of his gods, that other half-gone gamzee must have told himself

IT WAS AN HONOR TO HAVE MOTHER FUCKING MADE THE GODS OUT OF HIS OWN MOTHERFUCKING SELF

honk

HONK

it was an honor.

bUt ThIs EnDgAmE-y GaMzEe HaDn’T lOsT aNy Of HiS SoUl ThOuGh.

He WaS aLoNe In HiS HeAd So FaR aS hE cOuLd TeLl. :o)

RiGhT? Do:

Still, Karkat had stared in a frenzied panic at the horn pile, just waiting for Gamzee to shift inside… Like he was facing off against a monster in a horror film instead of the guy who had frosted little crabs all over some motherfucking cupcakes for his wriggling day.  That guy, just chosen for a sacred calling.  Just used like a fool.

All that was long ago and far away, getting farther away all the damn time.  The Gamzee that had truly believed his friends were the ones that would look out for him, all keep him on the straight and motherfucking narrow, keep him close – he was just a purplish smear against the sand to Gamzee’s own true self, now.  Like to Goatdad, like to Karkat, like to all the others.  You just gotta drift out where the waters take you, some of the motherfucking time.

It couldn’t be helped.     

 But you know, actually Gamzee was pretty sure he’d just caption Caliborn's flaily dancing picture, _“’hOpE’ yOu HaVe A hApPy HaLlOwEeN, jAkE”_ and see if Jake messaged back.  Instead of all the screeching threats Caliborn suggested.

The “hope” thing was pretty motherfucking punny, what with Jake English being the Page of Hope and all.  Maybe punny enough to make even Karkat type a sarcastic sort of laugh.

A clown could “hope.” :o)

 


End file.
